Comfort of a Friend
by AZGirl
Summary: It was the same then, and it was the same now. D'Artagnan was by his side during the times when he felt his lowest. The one and only deleted scene from Broken Promise.


**Disclaimer** : The Musketeers are not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

 **Spoilers** : The television show (through season two) and novels are fair game.

 **A/N:** Back when I posted _Broken Promise_ , I mentioned that I had deleted a scene that seemed to be too repetitive in terms of the overall story. I've decided to post a revised version of it as a sort of promise that there will eventually be more stories in the AU I'm calling _The Immortals_. The scene takes place between chapters seven (27 April 1844) and eight (8 July 1844).

If you've made it this far and have not read _Broken Promise_ , then there are only a few things you need to know: Athos, d'Artagnan, Aramis, and Porthos are immortal; Athos, in 1844, discovers that someone has written about him and his friends as Musketeers back in the 1630s which causes much angst; and each chapter is a mix of the novels, television series, and real history with some historic notes at the end of each chapter to expand on some details. I hope you'll give this story a chance.

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 **Comfort of a Friend** _ **– 1 May 1844**_

The front door slamming shut sounded just enough like a canon being fired that it startled him from his drunken stupor so that when he heard his name called out, he didn't so much hear it as feel it deep down in his bones.

Athos lifted the half-empty bottle in his hand to his lips and drank deeply from it, not caring that anyone would see him as he currently was: sitting on the floor and leaning against the settee, staring into an unlit fireplace.

"Athos! Answer me!"

He could hear someone, probably d'Artagnan from the sound of the voice, heading up the stairs towards his bedroom. As he finished the bottle of liquor, he listened to the footsteps move around upstairs before rushing back down to the main level. Athos thought about answering back to the calls of his name, but decided that it took more energy than he currently had at the moment to open his mouth.

Finally, the footfalls headed his direction and the door to his combination study and sitting room opened just as he had finished unsealing another bottle of wine. He would rather drink something stronger, but wine seemed more fitting to the occasion.

The footsteps stopped a short distance away, and Athos heard a relieved, yet frustrated, sigh. He was torn between feeling angry with the interruption of his day off, and touched that d'Artagnan, even after all these years, would still be willing to deal with him during one of his drinking binges.

D'Artagnan moved over to the fireplace and lit it, not saying anything as he made sure it was built high and would last a good while without any further interference. Then, his friend simply sat down next to him on the ground. Neither of them spoke, each of them continuing to sit in front of the fire and letting the dancing flames hold their attentions.

Athos carried on drinking, though he noticed that his pace had slowed down considerably from that of earlier in the morning. He should've stopped reading that damned newspaper the moment he had read the title of the chapter two days ago. However, being the glutton for punishment that he is, he'd kept going until he'd read every single word of each part of the chapter, dreading what he would find and completely unable to stop himself from going back for more.

Then, with the third and final section of the chapter that he'd read earlier in the day, he finally got to the part he had been dreading: the story of what had happened between him and his wife.

This time unlike how it played out in real life, he'd had no brother who was murdered – no brother at all, in fact. His wife had already been branded with a fleur-di-lis, condemning her as a criminal, and somehow he'd missed it throughout the entire time they'd known each other and had been married. It didn't say much about his counterpart's observational skills – or his own.

His wife had been hanged for her crimes and had managed to escape in both versions, something he didn't think Dumas would delve into. The thought that all those who read his story from now on would know his shame and his inability to follow through with justice made him mentally and physically cringe. He tried to feel rage, hurt – _something_ – over what Porthos had done, but he couldn't; he was numb.

Of course, that did not stop him from drinking to try and forget or to try and feel – he couldn't be sure of which anymore. At least in this fiction, Dumas had done him the courtesy of having d'Artagnan by his side once more as the one he told his secrets to. At least that was the same and it was something that was easy to live with.

It was the same then, and it was the same now. D'Artagnan was by his side during the times when he felt his lowest. It seemed to be a habit of his friend – a sometimes irritating habit, but a good one nonetheless. For that, he was grateful. He may hate himself at present, but at least he is not alone with his guilty, melancholy thoughts.

Athos takes a drink of his wine and hands the bottle to d'Artagnan, who copies his movements and hands the bottle back. They share the bottle until it's gone and Athos places it on the table next to him. He's had more than enough wine and will likely regret drinking so much when he wakes the next morning, but for now he is drunk enough to not truly care.

The two of them continue to sit and watch the flames flickering in the fireplace before them, though he notices that he is now having trouble keeping his eyes open. Heavy eyelids are fighting to stay open, but it's getting more and more difficult for them to not remain closed. He feels something solid at his shoulder and turns his head slightly to see that d'Artagnan is keeping him propped up so that he doesn't end up fully on the floor.

He lets his eyes close and his head fall to rest upon d'Artagnan's shoulder, allowing himself the comfort of resting against his best friend. Just as he begins to succumb to sleep, d'Artagnan quietly says:

"At least this time your house wasn't burned down around you for revenge."

With eyes determined to stay closed, Athos smiles slightly and drifts off to sleep.

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 _The end._

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 **Historical Notes** **:**

 **-1 May 1844:** _Le Siècle_ published the last section (of three) of chapter 27 – _La Femme d'Athos (Athos's Wife)_. Sections one and two were published on 29 and 30 April 1844. Section one was paired with the ending of chapter 26 – _La Thèse d'Aramis (Aramis's Thesis)_.

 _ **-The Three Musketeers (Les Trois Mousquetaires)**_ was published in serial form in _Le Siècle_ from 14 March through 14 July 1844. The story was published in six parts, each with a varying number of chapters, but in most books, the chapters are numbered 1 through 67 with an additional epilogue. ( _Note:_ I use the book format to number the chapters.)

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 _ **Thanks for reading!**_

 _ **Joyeux Noël! Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays!**_

Many thanks to Celticgal1041 for proofing this; all remaining mistakes are my fault.

No guarantees, but I think the next story in this series will be about how the guys discover that they are immortal.


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